Book Two: Searching
by Aurorarose
Summary: The sequel to Lost. Same story but Roger's side of the story. Answers a lot of the questions from the first book.
1. Summer Year-Round

Book Two: Searching ****

Book Two: Searching

By: Aurorarose13

****

Chapter One – Summer Year-round

"Grow up, Loserboy. Your little quest to find your precious slayer is gonna be a failure. And you know how I know? Because your life is a failure; you are a failure—at everything you've ever done—and this will be no exception."

Alexander Harris recalled Cordelia's harsh comments as though she had said them yesterday. But it hadn't been yesterday at all; it had been almost four years ago. At the time, Xander had totally disagreed with her, just as he always had, telling her that when he returned to Sunnydale hand-in-hand with Buffy Summers, she would be eating every single word with a fork and a spoon. 

Now five years after Buffy's departure (four years after his), all Xander had to show for his troubles was a steadily depleting bank account and a handful of photographs of his beloved. He hated to admit it, but Cordelia was right; this mission was a miserable failure and so was he.

The overcast winter sky outside his penthouse window mirrored his thoughts. Bleak. Without hope. Without end. Without light. And most importantly, without Summer. Snow dripped lazily from the clouds like water from a leaky faucet, slight intervals in between where no flakes fell, instead replaced with an emptiness. Veins of silver frost snaked across the glass pane, making New York City look like it had been stitched up with threads of ice. Yes, beautiful in the poet's sense of the word, but mere prison bars to Xander Harris.

He missed Buffy… obviously. It was that simple and easy to put to words; however, the amount of loss he felt could never be described. Everywhere he looked Xander saw her. Every woman with blonde hair was Buffy—at least that was whom she resembled from afar. But every time Xander got close to her, he found out she was no more than a woman with blonde hair, almost faceless. The search was absolutely maddening. Sometimes he just wanted to give it up and drop the job into someone else's hands, but he never did, for who else would be there to take it anyway. Besides, the mere thought that he might one day very soon run right into her was more than enough to keep him trudging forward in his journey, even if that journey led him straight to death. It wasn't that he hadn't faced the prospect before. It was just that he had never had to face the reality of it without Buffy.

So here he was today, aimlessly searching one city after another, following even the most infinitesimal lead. Any clue he received always turned out to be another dead-end, but—hey—anything for the girl of his dreams. And damn that Fate, but it was Xander's to hold!

Pulling reluctantly away from the window, Xander returned his intense focus to what he had been doing before. He sidled back over to his comfy couch and took a seat directly in front of a lock box. It was opened wide, with its contents spewing haphazardly all over the coffee table. Xander placed a hand over a particular picture, his palm hovering over the face, as if he was memorizing it. He sighed wistfully and lifted the picture to eye level.

His beautiful, sacred Buffy. She was standing idly in a field of wildflowers, wearing a sleeveless baby blue sundress. Her hair was waving in the summer breezes as they ran their fingers delicately through it, and the sun played upon it like it did upon clear ocean tide pools. Though somewhat masked by the daisy she had tenderly kissing her cheek, her trademark Buffy smile shined up at Xander, filling him with renewed hope for the future—a future with her. Buffy's eyes sparkled with merriment, their brilliant green backgrounds enhanced by the lush meadow. The perfect creature. Flawless.

How well Xander recalled that day, even if it had been almost five and a half years ago. 

@~~`~~~

"Are you done taking those stupid pictures yet?" Buffy queried anxiously, shaking her flower at him as a warning. Her eyes reflected her perturbed voice, but her smile betrayed her. The slayer was having fun, even taking dull photographs.

"Almost. Wills, you get in this one."

From the sidelines came a very annoyed voice. "Xander, don't make me make Buffy hurt you. Quit it already with those cheesy pictures!"

Xander sighed with weariness, though it was a contented weariness: brought on by handling two teenage girls snipping at him all day. "Very well, you are free to go. You're no fun, you know that, Wills?" She pooh-poohed his remark and continued to polish off her sandwich.

"This certainly is the most fun I've had all year," Buffy commented brightly, skipping over to her friend Willow's side and watching her down the rest of her root beer with one swig. 

Xander joined them on the picnic blanket, smiling broadly at the young ladies. "Yes, what could be better than spending the most beautiful day of the year with the most beautiful women in the world?"

"Flattery will get you no where, Mister Harris," Willow informed.

"It might," Buffy countered, her fingers walking up his arm seductively. Xander and Willow's eyes just about popped out of their heads. Buffy nibbled her lower lip suggestively before adding, "Just not with me." Then she slapped him lightly across the cheek. The redhead laughed loudly as Xander processed what the object of his affections had really said.

"Whoa! For a second there you had me scared that the Buffy I knew had been replaced with the Buffy of my dreams. Glad to have you back." He paused for a long moment for dramatic effect. "Wait a minute! No I'm not! Give me back Dream-Buffy!" Xander lunged at the slayer, shaking her as though he could jounce her right out. Buffy laughed with amusement while Willow just sighed. "I know, I know. When am I going to learn that I'm not funny?"

"Precisely," Willow said. "Who wants the last piece of pie?"

Instantly Buffy's hand shot up. "Ooh! I do!"

"Too bad," the redhead cried as she plucked the pie wedge from in front of her hungry blonde friend with slayer-like speed. "Willow!"

"Sucker. Mmmm, this pie is delicious."

"I'm gonna slay your ass, you wannabe Wicca!"

"Oh my! It's like tasting a piece of heaven. It's a real shame there isn't a slice for you." As Willow taunted the slayer, she shoved piece after piece of pie in her greedy mouth, chewing loudly and proudly. "Gosh, I can't believe that someone could craft such a wonderful bit of pastry!"

"Can I please have just a little bite?" Buffy begged, giving Willow the puppy eyes. She even pawed Willow's arm playfully.

"Let me think about it. No!" She ate another sugarcoated apple with a bit of golden brown crust.

Buffy steadily inched closer to Willow, hoping for her not to notice. "Please…"

"Watch it, slayer. Any closer and you'll be wearing this pie!"

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Are you entirely sure about that?"

"Is it just me, or is that a challenge?" Buffy questioned Xander.

He smiled wryly at his best friend then at Buffy, readying his camera for the photo opportunity he was sure would follow. "Oh, I do believe it was a challenge, Buffy."

"Are you just saying that because you want to see a chic fight?"

"No…" he answered weakly, causing her to raise and eyebrow. "I think you should still get her anyway." She kept giving him the you-are-not-my-friend look—disappointed and tiresome with a slight bit of humor—but decided to go ahead with her assault.

The slayer pounced like a lion on top of Willow, grabbing wildly for the pie plate that her friend held stretched the furthest from Buffy she could get it. Grunts and howls came forth from both girls as they rolled all around the picnic blanket in the midst of their ridiculous fight. Remembering the camera beckoning to him in his hands, Xander lined it up as best he could then yelled, "Smile!" Both Willow and Buffy turned, completely surprised by the sight of the Polaroid aimed perfectly at their twisted, intertwined figures. "Can you say blackmail?" he laughed, focusing to perfection.

"Xander!" Buffy snarled viciously. "If you take that picture, I'll—"

There was a click and a whir as the camera snapped a photograph and then advanced to the next slide, and then there was a sudden bump. The next thing Xander recalled was looking up and seeing the grinning, angelic faces staring at him. Heaven? Not by a long shot, for there was Hell to pay after that…

@~~`~~~

Sighing nostalgically, Xander replaced the photograph down on the table and continued flipping through the film. Most of the pictures were of Buffy… and Willow, too. But of all the ones he cherished (which, consequently, was every single photo) his favorite was the "Pummeling for Pie" picture, as the three had deemed it that day.

Suddenly there was a loud rapping at his door. "Rog? Can I come in?"

"Damn!" Xander muttered quietly. "Uh, yeah, just hold on for a second." The slayerette gathered up as many of his pictures as he could and threw them haphazardly in his lock box. In record time, Xander had closed the box, shoving it under his couch. "Come on in, Nate!"

Something on the table caught Xander's eye, and he was lucky it did so. "Pummeling for Pie" was still resting on his coffee table's edge. "Shit!" Where to hide it? Where to hide it? Too late! "Rog? You in here?" Xander slipped his arm behind his back as nonchalantly as he could, casually humming a recent hit from the radio. "Roger?"

"Yeah. Over here." The tall, athletic-looking man in the doorway craned his head to discover his friend Roger standing by his sofa. "There you are. You ready to go to the club now, or am I going to have to wait another half an hour? I'm finally ready for that rematch at racquetball you promised me."

"I'll be ready as soon as I grab my gear. Be right back," Xander informed, heading into a tiny hallway that led to his bedroom.

Nate idly took a seat on the couch and surveyed the living room setup. Very posh. Nice establishment on the whole. Centrally located; nice view; gargantuan penthouse suite. "What've you been doing lately, Rog, my man?"

From in his bedroom came an answer, as innocent and casual as possible. "Oh, just looking at some old photographs from my youth. Not much otherwise, I'm afraid."

"Was that a picture what you had hidden behind your back when I came in?"

A head covered with milk chocolate hair poked out from the doorway. "Excuse me?"

Nate smiled at his astute observance. "I asked if a picture was what you were hiding from me when I came in a few minutes ago?"

"Nathan, my friend," he began with a bit of nervousness, "I'm afraid I don't know of what you are speaking. You must be mistaken."

The sandy blonde clucked his tongue and grinned enough to display his perfect white teeth. "Don't think you can lie to me for one second, Roger Winters, and get away with it. I'm your best friend, and I know more about you than you know about yourself."

In the back bedroom, Xander laughed cynically to himself. Poor dope. Nathan didn't have one clue about the real him. So far as he knew, Alexander LaVelle Harris was a non-existent person; there was only Roger Michael Winters. Of course, it wasn't wrong to say Nathan was a bad friend; he simply wasn't Xander's best friend. However, as far as his other self—this Roger Winters—was concerned, Xander supposed that Nathan Fruling was indeed his best friend. 

And about the rest of what his buddy said: Roger's entire life was a lie, and no one knew him better than he himself did, save Buffy and Willow. "It honestly was nothing important. Just a dumb picture. Why do you care so much anyway?"

"I don't; but you know me—I'm Curious George."

"I can see the resemblance, too," Xander joked, grabbing his gym bag from his camouflaged closet—white on white, he loved it.

"Oh, you're a funny man, Roger, a real crack-up."

"Yes, yes. I always knew my true calling was stand-up comedy."

"Sure that wasn't your master, Tarzan, calling?"

"Let's go, funny boy. I'm ready now." Xander emerged from his room sporting a pair of gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt marred with palm-sized holes. Emblazoned on the front of the shirt in huge orange letters were the words Born to Be Bad. And naturally there was an image of a baby wearing shades and a leather diaper embellished with metal studs.

"You look, well, different. Can't place my finger on it exactly, but my best guess would be to say the studded diaper is the change."

"Mock the garb all you like, Nate, but when the ladies are crawling all over the big, bad me, we'll see who laughs last."

Roger closed the door to his apartment behind him, locking up securely and stuffing the ring of keys into his pocket. Nate followed him to the elevator, and the pair waited patiently for the bell to ring. For a moment, the conversation stopped, and it was completely silent. For some unknown reason, the street sounds below could not permeate the walls. Roger's ears rang in the quiet. Nate cleared his throat. "You know, maybe we shouldn't play racquetball today."

"What?" Roger asked incredulously. "Why not?"

"You're just going to humiliate yourself again. I mean, after what I saw from you last week…"

The muscular man faced off against his slip of a companion (at least, he seemed little next to Roger), narrowing his eyes threateningly. "That was only because I was distracted by—"

"By Roxanna, I know."

"No! She _was_ part of the reason, but not the whole part. I only lost because I had a slight case of the flu."

"You're full of excuses," Nate sighed, exaggerating the shrug of his shoulders. "So how did things work out with Roxanna anyway? Was she as hot in bed as I presumed?"

The elevator dinged. "Wouldn't know."

Nate grabbed his friend by the arm and yanked him out of the threshold of the lift. "What do you mean you wouldn't know? First, you make a big point of showing off in front of her, and then you go as far as to lie about your job, and you never gave her a test run? Why the hell not?"

Shaking Nate's grip off easily, Roger stepped onto the elevator and pushed the door close button. "Coming?" he inquired sharply as the doors began to close on his partner. 

Immediately, Nate slipped in, glaring disappointedly at the behemoth beside him. "What went wrong? Was she a complete dud?"

"As it turned out, she wasn't exactly my type."

"And what the hell is your type, Rog? So far this month you've dumped every girl you've asked out after the first date. And you never once went past second base with any of them!"

"Second base? What, are we back in high school again, buddy?"

"I'm just trying to make a point without being lewd. Somehow you manage to get the hottest girls I've ever seen, but not one of them really seems to interest you. How can that possibly be? Some of those women you've dated would make a normal man stand to attention with one glance, and yet you don't even pay the slightest notice."

Roger gazed at the carpeted walls of the elevator, seeing nothing but wide-open space painted solid black. "I'm picky, what else is there to say? Excuse me for wanting something a little more meaningful than one night of sex."

"Being picky is one thing, and wanting more than sex is, too. But sometimes wild, passionate, spur-of-the-moment lovin' is what a man needs to get him back on track."

"Are you saying I'm _off_ track?"

Nate felt trapped. Roger was a very big man, capable of crushing his head between his thumb and forefinger. He was walking on hot coals now. "All I'm saying is that you need to lighten up. If you go on searching for the girl of your dreams in New York City, of all places, all you're going to wind up with is a handful of whores."

__

I've already found the girl of my dreams, but now I've lost her, he thought ruefully. "That's a terrible thing to say! There are plenty of respectable women here. It's not my fault you choose all the sluts with the empty heads."

"I can see this conversation is taking us nowhere very quickly. Change of subject: how's the job search progressing, hmm?"

Oh great, just what he didn't want to think about. "What do you want me to say? I haven't got a job yet, if that's what you mean. Christ, I haven't even gotten a single phone call back! Tomorrow's my big interview with Michael Sanderson and Associates, which I know is going to be a huge flop."

"Why would you say something like that?" Nate asked curiously as the elevator doors spread open, a grandiose lobby expanding before them.

"Why? Look at my past history of jobs. They're not the most glamorous of careers: janitor, night watchman, busboy, etc."

"I see your point."

"And because I never went to law school."

"But you're not applying for the position of lawyer. You're applying to be a receptionist, for crying out loud. What type of education do you need for that besides femininity training?"

Roger's eyes closed before he sighed wearily. "If you were the CEO of a fast-growing, well-reputed law firm, would you hire a receptionist who doesn't know the difference between his ass and his elbow when it comes to the law?" When Nate failed to answer, Roger answered for him. "Of course not."

"I still think with your street smarts and your money sense—"

"Money sense?" Roger queried comically, pointing to his exceedingly expensive gym bag, his leather bomber jacket with silk lining and the gold ring on each finger.

"Okay, with your _money_, you'll have the job bagged the moment you set your Armani-suit-wearing ass in the chair. How could anyone not hire someone in an Armani suit? They'd have to be crazy!"

"Or actually caring about what the applicant knows."

Nate narrowed his eyes at him. "Don't you know when to shut-up?"

Roger smiled as he slipped through the spiraling apartment doors. "If I did, I'd be three times wealthier than I am, and I'd have a girlfriend named Roxanna."

@~~`~~~

"Damn," Roger cursed exhaustedly as he left the racquetball room with Nate, "you won again." He dabbed his sweat-soaked body with an already drenched towel and proceeded to throw it at his friend, shooting him the I-hate-you glance.

"Doesn't count," Nate mumbled rather bitterly. "Once again you were 'distracted' by the opposite sex. Geez, last time it was a Roxanna, and now it's a Lydia?"

"I was not distracted. I just wasn't totally focused."

His blonde friend replied, "I don't even know why you bother. You only go out on one date, and you don't even take her back to your place. What's the point of impressing a lady when you're not going to follow up on it?"

Roger's sneakers squeaked on the floor, sharp, painful cries that cut the moist air of the locker room. "My idea of following up is definitely not the same as yours, buddy."

"I've realized that."

"I don't just want big boobs and a round ass. I'm looking for something more."

Nate smiled wickedly. "Then why do you always go for those really sexy types? Why don't you ask out Marcie? She's available."

The hulking man's eyes practically exploded in disbelief from their sockets. "Marcie?"

"Yeah, sure. You two could have a lot of interesting conversations. You could talk about working out—and how it doesn't work for some people—or the weather or some other fun topic like that. At least she didn't attend Madame LaSex's School for Aspiring Prostitutes."

"I can't go out with Marcie!"

"And why not?" asked Nate in a woman's voice. "Is it because she's fat?"

"No," Roger said, his tone wavering, "it's just that she's really bitchy. I heard it from Trish."

Momentarily, Nate scratched his chin in confusion. "Was Trish 'Last Friday' or 'Last Saturday'? I can't recall."

"Trish was 'Last Tuesday'; Melinda was 'Last Friday'; Karen was 'Last Saturday.' Anyway, there's nothing wrong with Marcie's big-bonishness. It's just that I heard things about her personality." With a heavy sigh of defeat, Nate relented and turned toward the showers. 

Roger stood alone among the lockers and benches, thinking about all that Nate had said to him that day. His friend was right, unfortunately. Roger needed to change his life. As much as he liked to say he was, he definitely was not having any fun. Not with women, not with his friends, not by himself. 

His life was miserable, and there was nothing he could think to do about it. Unless he took Nate's advice and used Lydia for sex. But to do that was to tread back into the past, not the Sunnydale past of so long ago, but the recent past, and that was one place he did not want to go. _The decisions we must make_, he thought. _The decisions we must make._

Roger turned to the showers.


	2. A Ferocious Winter

Chapter Two – A Ferocious Winter ****

Chapter Two – A Ferocious Winter

Steamy stripes wiggled in the space before Roger's cold, now gray eyes. He felt his skin tingle as the misty whips of sauna air lashed him relentlessly. Focusing all his emotions to the back of his mind, Roger felt only the steam's warm breath all over his body.

"I'm telling you, man," a disembodied voice declared through the moist sauna air. "All you need is one wild and crazy night to relax your nerves."

"I'm not tense," Roger insisted with strained calm. 

"Oh no?" Suddenly, a hand leaped out from the fog, a grotesque claw lunging for the burly man's heaving chest. Roger's hand reacted on its own whim, grasping the mysterious hand by its wrist and wrenching it to the floor to reveal a pink figure in a white towel. "Not that tense, hmm?" Nathan clambered back onto the bench, straightening his towel.

"Okay, so maybe I'm a little stressed out, but it's all for good reason. I've got the most important job interview of my life tomorrow morning, bills I have to pay and a life to live all at the same time. And you expect me to just blow off all my responsibilities for quick sex?"

Nathan smiled. "The key word is quick."

Roger shook his head. The moist air clung to his body with persistence, mixing with a coat of sweat that clung to his body. "How is it possible that you are my friend, Nate?"

"I know. How did you ever get so lucky?" Roger cracked a smile then his big knuckles. His friend Nathan was a bit of a pain and very insistent about always having things his way, but so were all Xander's friends as well. And he wouldn't have it any other way, even if his friend's were pests.

The sauna door swung open, and the beautiful distraction from the racquetball game sauntered in as though she owned the place, seating herself next to Roger. Nate elbowed his buddy roughly, pushing Roger even closer to Lydia. Roger's naked leg bumped hers, and their eyes locked. "Uh, sorry about that. My friend here thinks I'm still in seventh grade, and he needs to make a fool of me because I can't get a girl's attention on my own."

"Oh, tell you're friend he definitely doesn't need to do that for you." Roger grinned appreciatively. Lydia thrust a hand out in front of her. "My name is Lydia."

"I know."

"You do?" she gasped, retracting her hand in surprise.

"He does," Nate finished.

"Everyone knows who you are. You're the prettiest lady in the gym," Roger commented strategically.

"And everyone knows you, Roger Winters, are the heartbreaker round these parts."

"So that's my reputation, huh?"

"Yup," Lydia informed, tossing her wet hair seductively over her milk-white shoulder. "So now I don't know whether to be flattered that you're talking to me or whether to be nervous."

Roger took a brief moment to smile to himself. All Xander's high school career girls refused to talk to him, refused to even look his direction. But five years later, after escaping the strangling talons of Sunnyhell, Roger Winters, a.k.a., Xander Harris, was the paragon of good-looking guys (at least by most women's standards). _I guess that's what five good years at the gym will do for you_, he commented to himself.

"Neither," Nate laughed through the curtain of steam. "You should feel honored."

Roger blushed furiously, feeling his grip on Lydia slip away. Why he even cared, he did not know, but for some reason she suddenly mattered. On cue, Roger smacked his "buddy" on his shoulder. "Quit making me out to be a pompous jerk, Nathan Jeremy!

"Don't listen to a word this goon says to you, Lydia. He's been pressuring me to… take care of a certain few things lately, so just ignore him."

Lydia nodded okay but then raised a questioning figure. "Well, if you're not a pompous jerk, then what are you, Mr. Winters?" The familiar feminine gleam that Xander used to see in Willow's and Buffy's eyes constantly illuminated Lydia's face.

"An over-stressed worry-wart with no sense of fun," Nate butted in, as was his obnoxious style.

Roger scowled, punching his companion in the shoulder again. Lydia unleashed a melodic laugh characteristic of little schoolgirls. The giggle danced on smoky wisps, twisting them with its musical fingers. When her laughter subsided, she announced, "That's not what I heard."

Roger raised an eyebrow. "Something about the way you said that…" He trailed off to wait for her reply.

"Oh, it's nothing really bad. I just heard from about, oh, I don't know, maybe 25 different women that you're a great date. But…"

"But?" Roger asked eagerly, his ego exploding like fireworks.

"But, it's only good for one night. After that you kinda disappear from their lives to leave them thinking you were merely 'shopping'."

Roger felt as though he was an inflatable raft, and somebody, namely Lydia, yanked his plug, letting loose all the air inside. "What a terrible thing to say!"

"So, it's not true?"

"No," he stuttered. "I guess I'm just fickle." Xander sighed to himself. How terribly true it was. There would be no other girl for him but Buffy Anne Summers. The proof was in his extensive list of dates spanning the last five years. From Abigail to Zelda (yes, even a Zelda), Roger had dated them all… just once, and that was because none of them could every compare to his Buffy. Buffy was perfection—unachievable for anyone else—although Roger had dated some women who came pretty close by _all_ standards. "Fickle," he whispered. "That's all."

"Well, you seem like a nice enough guy to me, Roger. Maybe—just for one night, to help keep the tradition alive—we can get together." She grinned wickedly. "I have to say, I'm hoping to join your 'One-Night Stand' Fan Club."

Nate clapped his hands together excitedly. "Perfect! Now all the pieces fall into place…"

Roger narrowed his fiery eyes at his friend. "Zip it, motor-mouth. So, Lydia, what do you say to tonight, maybe? I'd love some company, and I think a little distraction from my job interview tomorrow may be in order."

Lydia smiled a smile reminiscent to that of Buffy's, leaving Roger with a jabbing feeling in his heart. For some reason, he felt like he was cheating on her, and that feeling had never occurred before. "Sounds to me that, indeed, a 'distraction' is necessary… When shall you pick me up?"

With a subtle bit of hesitance, he said, "Sevenish good for you?"

With a carefree nod, Lydia purred, "It's excellent."

"Well then, let's step out of my office here and exchange digits. I'll call for directions to your place tonight." Roger motioned for the door, and Lydia stepped through, smiling sexily.

The door slammed behind Roger, and all Nate could do in the sauna was sit there and grin at his triumphant matchmaking skills.

@~~`~~~

There was a soft rapping on Roger's bedroom door. "Uh, come in?" he asked more than informed. As Roger finished looping his tie around his neck, Nate's head appeared in the frame. "And what are you so giddy about, Mr. Fruling? It's not like you're going out on this date."

"Why can't I live vicariously through you?" Roger noticed his friend's sleek garb. Nathan wore a nice navy blue suit, pressed and proper. His face was cleanly shaved and his nails were even filed to a precise, uniform length. Every hair on his head was combed neatly into place and there was not a speck of lint on his body. This cleanliness and precision ran deeper in Nathan than most, for he had been sent to military school as an adolescent. The habits were there to stay in the young man now, and this was evident in the sharpness of his appearance.

"And just where do you think you're going?"

"Out on a date," Nate nonchalantly muttered, glancing over his cuticles for hangnails. 

"Out where?"

"Can't tell ya, or I'd have to kill ya."

Roger was already tired of this game. "Come on, Nathan. If you're going to where I think you are, I'm telling you right know, you're as good as dead. I'll nail your ass to the top of the Chrysler Building! Lydia and I are going out alone, without interference from meddling fools who claim to be my best friend!"

There was a moment of silence for the mischievous grin that sneaked up on Nate's childish face. "I would never do that…"

"You have before."

"…Again," Nate finished, still smiling. He seated himself on the edge of Roger's feather bed and proceeded to pick the fuzz balls from his pants.

Sighing heavily, Roger ran a hand through his hair and adjusted his suit. He felt secure in his sable-colored ensemble; even his shoes matched. He rolled his shoulders under the soft fabric and cracked his neck, loosening up his body. Unsure of where the night would take him, Roger wanted to be ready for anything… anything. After looking himself over a few times, he called to his friend, "Hey, Nate, how do I look?"

Rising from the bed like a great bear, the youthful blonde walked quickly over to Roger's side with a long, smooth gait. "Like you're finally ready for some action. And I expect you to get some, too. If you come back to me without one good story about last night, I'll beat you black and blue." Nate patted Roger on the shoulder and pushed him to the door. 

As Roger disappeared through the frame of his front door, he heard a voice from the back bedroom, where his friend was still tidying up (which he would probably do for another half-hour or so). "Oh, and buddy?"

"Yeah, Nate?"

Nathan's sandy head leaned out down the apartment's surprisingly wide hallway. "We need to have a talk soon." There was a moment's pause as Nate evidently fished about in his pockets for something. "About this."

Xander gasped. "Pummeling for Pie" was now in the hands of the unknown assailant out to strangle the last bit of his past he kept inside. In an almost trembling voice, Xander whispered, "We'll talk later." And with that curt promise, Roger was out of his apartment, racing toward to elevator.

@~~`~~~

Downtown New York City, where the streets were never still and the traffic never ceased sweeping up and down the roadways with fevered purrs of their engines. Lydia's rowhouse was situated on the curb of one of the few finely paved sidewalks left in the metropolis. Not large enough to emit a forbidding aura, instead, the brownstone building offered an elegant presence to the western fringe of Central Park. The brief lawn terminating sharply at the cement sidewalk was lined with a row of withered petunias, encapsulated in the grip of winter.

Roger, straightening his suit and closing the cab door behind him in a swift motion, stepped onto the path leading to the front door of the house. He coolly approached the entrance and rang the doorbell, and within moments he heard the shuffle of feet. Xander took control of the mind within the body shared by two people, thoughts of Giles' leather shoes scuffling across the library floor flooding through the body. But the image was lost the second an old woman dressed in a worn floral print dress and a soiled apron opened the portal.

"Yes?" the ancient woman questioned, bewilderment in her accented voice.

"Um, I'm here for Lydia St. John. Where can I find her?"

"Wait a moment, boy. I'll ring her." And she did just that. The stooped creature ambled back into the kitchen from whence she came and tugged on a string. A resounding clang bellowed through the upstairs of the house, and the wordless message was received, for Lydia appeared at the top of the stairs. 

She wore a short crimson dress, the neckline embellished with rhinestones. Her shoulder-length brown hair was twisted up on top of her head, two gold chopsticks protruding from the bun. Lydia's pale skin faintly glittered gold, and Roger was drawn to the top of the stairs by invisible strings controlled by Lydia. Her trim body—not too skinny as to be grotesque—turned slightly, allowing Roger to get the side view. He could hardly believe he was teetering on the edge of drooling.

"A little late, I see," Lydia mentioned, glancing at her watch pointedly. "But what else should I expect from a man?"

"You should know enough not to expect punctuality!" the ancient being shuffling downstairs hissed.

"Hush, Ma Becker!" Facing Roger directly, Lydia took his hand absent-mindedly. "Don't mind Ma. She's still bitter 38 years after her divorce. Every man I bring here always gets the 'hairy eyeball'. Just smile and thank her for her hospitality; she won't bother you too much after that."

Roger nodded. "By 'every man,' I assume you mean the one or two you've dated before?"

"Oh come on, Roger," Lydia sighed, pulling him down the stairs to the door, "you don't really believe you're the only one with a track record!" Roger stared in shock. "The limo is waiting, correct?"

"Limo? Uh, did I miss something?"

Lydia's hand came to rest on the doorknob as she called to the old woman. "Hear that, Ma Becker? No limo! I'm going on a date with a man who's a cheapskate!"

"Ach!" the woman barked. "Dein Mann ist Dummkopf." She paused for a moment as she walked back to the foyer to glance him over one more time. "Aber… ich denke, dab er schöne Augen hat! Geh fort, liebe Lydi! Jetzt geh ins Restaurant! Aus! Aus! I sagte 'Aus!'"

With a bewildered countenance upon his face, Roger opened the door for his date. Lydia smiled, being the only one who knew what the geriatric had said. "When she's impassioned, she tends to run her mouth in German."

"Yeah?" Roger mumbled. "What'd she say?"

"That's for me to know, and you to never find out." The dazzling young woman waltzed through the door with an air of mystique. Roger was captivated for the first time in a long time. This date may have been his best decision in quite a while. "So where are we going?"

Letting Lydia slip into the taxi, Roger grinned and whispered, "That's for me to know…" He stepped in as well, nodded to the driver and they were off. "…And you never to find out."

@~~`~~~

The taxi slowed once it pulled up to the curbside of East 54th Street. Lydia stepped out, gooseflesh instantly pricking up as the cold winds buffeted her. She tugged her jacket around her shoulders, savoring the brief flash of heat spreading through her body. Smiling warmly at Roger, she glanced up at the Hotel Elysèe's face. "So this is where you were going to take me? The Monkey Bar?"

Roger opened the bar doors for his date and followed her into the bustling bar filled with after-hours businessmen. They shuffled their way through the mob, glancing at the adorable murals of monkeys drinking from coconuts and martini glasses with bananas instead of olives. "I've been here a few times, and I find it kinda charming," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "I think the cute little monkeys hanging from the chandeliers are a nice touch."

"Uh huh, and I bet so do the other ladies you've brought here," Lydia chided, pleased to see the resulting wide-eyed glare. "But I suppose this isn't as bad as the last date I was on. My ex-boyfriend took me to the circus one night. I don't think he realized how much I hate the circus."

Roger looked down at his feet and muttered, "Clowns are evil."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh nothing. I just said clowns are evil. They used to haunt my dreams," he confessed, thinking back to the day that Xander had to face his clown fear when his nightmares became reality courtesy Sunnydale, California. "I'm over that fear," Roger began, remarking to himself how silly it would be if he were still scared of clowns after all he'd seen, "but they'll always creep my flesh."

Lydia raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"I think it's the big painted grin. It's always seemed slightly demonic to me. Or maybe it's the eyes peering out from behind the whitewashed face. I don't trust a guy whose skin is a costume year round. Sometimes I get the feeling that they want to suck my blood or tear that selfsame flesh off and devour it."

"Roger!" Lydia barked. "Gross! We are about to eat, you know!"

Chagrined, he replied, "Sorry. Sometimes I get carried away." He scratched behind his head and blushed a little. "Let's get seated, shall we?" 

Roger approached the hostess, standing prim and proper behind her podium. She was quite beautiful, in her early twenties, with dark brown hair that fell to her shoulder blades and eyes blacker than the night. The ebony irises focused on his suave figure as she took in the customer before her. "Excuse, miss," Roger began, with the young hostess' smile reflecting in his eyes. "I have a reservation for Winters."

She signaled with her index finger for him to wait a moment and then proceeded to scan the list of names in front of her. The grin on her face fell somewhat when she read the information, and it deepened into a scowl when her mysterious eyes beheld Lydia. "Winters, party of two for 7:30?" Roger nodded, taking Lydia's hand. "Anything you would like to check?" He handed the lady their coats and received the check number. "Right this way, Mr. Winters."

After seating the couple, the hostess returned to her duties, but not before smiling coyly at Roger and giving a quick wink. "Mind telling me what you two have got going on?" Lydia laughed, watching Roger watch the hostess' ass. 

He turned to her and smirked. "Well, when you've got it, you've got it. What can I say?"

"Nothing. Shut-up, stupid." Lydia twisted her pretty little mouth up, knowing full well that he did have a certain something after all, otherwise they wouldn't be where they were now. Roger grinned again and relaxed into his chair, the rejoicing victor. 

Shortly, a man dressed immaculately in a gray button-down, high-necked shirt and matching charcoal gray slacks approached the table, standing straight as an arrow beside Lydia. "Good evening, folks. My name is Mitchell, and I'll be your waiter this evening. May I offer you something to drink?" He glanced alternately between the two, his gaze finally settling on Lydia.

"Oh, well, I suppose a glass of Chardonnay would suit me just fine."

"And for the gentleman?" Lydia sniggered then shot Roger a cheery "just joking" smile.

"I'll have the same, thank you."

Mitchell nodded and returned hurriedly to the kitchen, leaving the two at the table in the middle of a staring match. A comfortable silence settled upon them, and Roger had the opportunity to completely check out his date. God, she was amazing! She had the perfect body by nearly any man's standards, one that maybe rivaled Buff— No! He wasn't going to start comparing the first real woman in Roger's life to the first real woman in Xander's. Down that road thrived demons he was still not ready to face, even with this muscular, formidable new shell of a body. Still, Lydia was a prize that Roger imagined very clearly in his mind winning. A dream come true, truly. If there was one thing Roger ever owed Nate, it was this chance with Lydia. 

His thoughts were interrupted suddenly by a young man, who had materialized out of empty air to straighten their silverware. Lydia raised a finely shaped eyebrow at her date, who merely smiled back goofily. "Enjoy the experience, my sweet."

"Oh, I am." Roger stared intently into her eyes, a gaze which she matched with equal intensity. Seconds stretched into eons, much as they had when Xander watched— Abruptly, she broke contact to glance at something over his shoulder. What Rog saw reflected in those soft eyes terrified him…

"NO!" he screeched, disturbing a group of Japanese businessmen, who frowned at him. "Please, anything but this!"

"Roger, it's okay," she soothed. "What's wrong?"

The young man swiveled around in his seat to glower at the approaching horror. "I thought I told you no one wanted you here."

"Um, actually, just to set the record straight, you told me you'd nail my ass to the top of the Chrysler Building if I showed up." Nate put his hands on his hips, grinning defiantly at his best friend. 

Roger was tempted to sock him in the face, but the thought only lingered a second, like his recent happiness. Instead, his face remained fixed in the scowl as he spoke. "And yet you came anyway? You should know by now, Nate, that I never issue idle threats."

The blonde shrugged. "What can I say other than I like the view from up there." Roger shook his head in disbelief. This man was his best friend? He needed to get out more. "Lydia, yes? Remember me?"

She smiled in the way that all people did after they first met the gregarious Nate: the look of bemusement mixed with a little pain. "How could I forget, Nathan?"

"Ah, enchanted as always, madam." After kissing her hand gently, Nate reached behind him to grab the hand of his lovely date. A buxom young woman appeared at his side, smiling nervously at the seated couple. She rolled her shoulders anxiously once, then offered her hand out to Roger, who automatically kissed it. "Roger, Lydia, this is my radiant date, Genevieve."

"Please, call me Gennie. I'm delighted to meet you both. I had no idea Nathan would know someone here. Would you be joining us for dinner?" Though she had offered, Gennie seemed to do it out of being polite and not out of any genuine interest in either of them. Roger cracked a tight smile. Chalk one more up for Nate's lists of conquests. At the rate his friend was going, that boy would have conquered half of Manhattan in a matter of three years. 

Lydia must have sensed the same feeling emanating from the other woman, and she gave their joint reply. "Thanks for the invite, Gennie, but I think we'll pass on that. Roger and I were kind of hoping for a quiet dinner together."

"Of course," she answered, a real smile forming on her hooker red lips. Immediately, she grabbed her date's hand to lead him happily back to their separate table beside the glass etching of the New York skyline. 

With an excited chuckle, Nate waved them goodbye and wished the pair of them a "tasty date." Before he turned his head from them, he winked quickly at Roger and gave him the thumbs up as well as a smile that read: "Make me proud."

Rog turned his full attentions back to his date, grinning abashedly at Lydia and scratching behind his head unconsciously. "Heh heh. Sorry about that. I had no idea he would show up here, at least not after that warning I tossed at him. Well, all right, it was more of a desperate hope he wouldn't."

Lydia batted away his embarrassment with a flick of her hand. "It's fine. I rather enjoy Nate. He's like a clown without make-up."

"Perhaps that's why I hate him half the time I see him."

Her musical laughter overpowered the Sinatra blaring above them. "You two are quite the odd pair. How did you meet anyway? I don't really see a meshing there. After all, you seem so different."

Before Roger could reply, Mitchell had returned with their wine. He carefully placed their goblets in front of them while another waiter brought a basket of crispy breads and guacamole dip. After taking their orders of duck for Lydia and veal for Roger, Mitchell departed only to be almost immediately replaced with a _different_ young waiter, who came bearing water in delicate blue glasses. Finally, when everyone had abandoned their table, Roger was free to answer Lydia's query. "We're only different on the exterior. A lot about our pasts coincides. We have a kinship."

"I see."

"Nate was my first friend here in New York. He lives in the apartment right underneath mine, and one day we ran into each other in the lobby. He asked if I worked out, and obviously so, and we've been best buddies ever since then. Been about two and a half years now that we've known each other. He rescued me from my solitude while I rescued him from his boredom."

Lydia smiled, seemingly enchanted with the tale. Roger felt better himself for having shared it, too. He guessed that Nate was the best friend he had after all. With a soft sigh, Lydia cocked her head to the side, her eyes glancing over to Nate's table. "Can't say too much for his date though."

Roger laughed softly. "Nah. Well, Nate's not known for picking the winners…… Except for you." His date shot him the warning glare. 

"Nice recovery."

"I try."

"I wonder." With smiling eyes, Lydia surveyed the restaurant. The soft lighting from the dim chandeliers above them fell gracefully upon her, and she looked like an angel, but the shadows on the other side of her grinning countenance seemed to contradict that image. And finally she assumed her opposing role. "So, Roger, tell me a little about yourself. Where are you originally from?"

The room slowly began to constrict, like the belly of an anaconda. "Um, well, California."

"Aha. I figured it was out west somewhere. You don't have an East Coast accent in the least. Besides, you have that western flair." When she tried to explain what that entailed, she found herself at a loss for words, an uncommon thing for Lydia apparently. "But trust me, I know a Westerner when I see one. So, what part of California are you from, Mr. Winters?"

Roger cleared his throat several times, attempting to force down the last remaining bits of Xander Harris that threatened to resurface. He glanced around nervously, praying for a distraction. With his voice an octave higher and perspiration starting to prick upon his forehead, he replied, "Outside of LA."

Sensing the need for a bit of a subject change, Lydia slowly made the shift, although she kept her keen eyes one his every move. "What is LA like this time of year? I suppose it's lovely what with the Pacific bordering the city lines."

"I suppose." And the conversation had come to a grinding halt. Neither could look each other in the eye any longer, and the pleasant, romantic atmosphere had been sucked from the room by an invisible vacuum. They sat in silence as they watched waiters bustle back and forth across the lobby, filling up water glasses and scraping crumbs of tables with an anal retentive nature inherent to them. Every so often one of them would make a comment about the nitpicking staff to pass the time, but the once speeding seconds had stretched languidly like a cat finally settling in for a nice nap. "So, my dear Lydia," Roger began again hopefully, "how's the job coming along?"

"Uh, fine I guess. Busy as usual," she remarked, a bit startled by her date's sudden interest in her job.

"No doubt. I suspect many men would come from miles around to see you." Roger rested his head on his hand to stare intently at Lydia, trying to look as interested as possible.

She smiled graciously at the flattery, if not with a bit of confusion. "Well, it's not just men, Roger. Women and children are far better patrons than the men, I'd have to say."

His head shot up in amazement, and his eyes widened with interest. "Indeed? Can't say I would have ever believed that. You mean children are allowed in?"

Lydia was outright astonished at Roger. "Of course! We'd never discriminate."

"That's quite an odd position to take in your line of work, Lydia."

Finally, the beautiful brunette stared him down, and with a laugh in her sweet voice, she asked, "What exactly do you think I do, Roger?"

"Uh, where is it that you work again? I seem to think I may have been misinformed." Roger reached for his collar to loosen his tie that now felt more like a noose. He chuckled nervously in a failed attempt to hide his embarrassment. Then, under his breath: "Nathan Jeremy…"

"Oh, well, I'm a part-time exotic dancer. You know, snakes and tambourines and the whole shebang."

Roger dabbed his sweaty brow with his napkin. "Thank goodness. That's what I thought! And here you had me fooled with all this talk of children in the joint!"

"I wasn't lying about the kids, Roger," Lydia said. "We have a steady stream of them, especially on Friday nights; that's when our young clientele peaks." Her abashed date sat with his mouth agape, nearly touching his bread plate. His eyes were as disbelieving as his expression. "I'm joking, hon. I'm a librarian at the New York Public Library. I just wanted to see what your expectations of me were precisely." The face went from white with shock to red with chagrin. He let a strained sigh escape his tight lips.

"I… I… I—don't know what to say. Um, somewhere down the road we got our lines crossed and, uh, here, I, well, just figured that a stunning beauty like yourself could— Ah, Nate has this habit of setting me up with lovely young women who've been around the block in more ways than one, so naturally assumed…"

"Rule number one in life, my fine fellow," Lydia started sagely, "assume makes an ass out of u and me."

Roger half-grinned. "Invaluable advice, no doubt, but it's more like I'm the ass."

"No doubt," she conceded with a smart-ass smile and a bow of her head.

"I hope I didn't offend you."

"Here, I didn't know whether to be repulsed or strangely flattered."

"I think I'd prefer the latter." They both shared a hearty laugh at Roger's bumbling, and with those moments of merriment, the rest of the dinner flowed successfully. Now, to seal the after-dinner and the proverbial deal…


End file.
